The Works of Shakespeare

Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant,
The county Paris hath set up his rest,

That you shall rest but little.-God forgive me,
(Marry, and amen!) how sound is she asleep!

I needs must wake her :-madam, madam, madam!

Ay, let the county take you in your bed;
He'll fright you up, i' faith :-will it not be?
What, drest! and in your clothes! and down
again!

I must needs wake you: lady! lady! lady!
Alas! alas!-help! help! my lady's dead!-
O, well-a-day, that ever I was born!-

Some aqua-vitæ, ho!-my lord! my lady!

Enter LADY CAPULET.

LA. CAP. What noise is here?
NURSE.

LA. CAP. What is the matter?
NURSE.

O lamentable day!

Look, look! O heavy day!

LA. CAP. O me, O me!-my child, my only

life,

Enter Friar LAURENCE and PARIS, with
Musicians.

PAR. Come, is the bride ready to go to church?
CAP. Ready to go, but never to return:
O son, the night before thy wedding day
Hath death lain with thy bride:- see, there
lies,

Flower as she was, deflowered by him.
Death is my son-in-law, death is my heir;
My daughter he hath wedded! I will die,
And leave him all; life, living, all is death's.

O day! O day! O day! O hateful day!
Never was seen so black a day as this:
O woful day, O woful day!

PAR. Beguil'd, divorced, wronged, spited, slain !
Most detestable death, by thee beguil'd
By cruel, cruel thee, quite overthrown !-
O love! O life !-not life, but love in death!

CAP. Despis'd, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd!—
Uncomfortable time! why cam'st thou now
To murder, murder our solemnity?—

O child! O child !-my soul, and not my child!-
Dead art thou!-alack! my child is dead;
And, with my child, my joys are buried!

FRI. Peace, ho, for shame! confusion's cure lives

not

In these confusions. Heaven and yourself
Had part in this fair maid; now heaven hath all,
And all the better is it for the maid:
Your part in her you could not keep from death;
But heaven keeps his part in eternal life.
The most you sought was-her promotion;
For 'twas your heaven, she should be advanc'd:
And weep ye now, seeing she is advanc'd,
Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself?
O, in this love, you love your child so ill,
That you run mad, seeing that she is well:
She's not well married, that lives married long;

Enter PETER.

PET. Musicians, O, musicians, Heart's ease, heart's ease; O, an you will have me live, play-heart's ease. I MUS. Why heart's ease?

PET. O, musicians, because my heart itself playsMy heart is full of woe: O, play me some merry dump, to comfort me.

2 Mus. Not a dump we; 'tis no time to play

now.

PET. You will not then?

Mus. No.

PET. I will then give it you soundly.

I Mus. What will you give us?

PET. No money, on my faith; but the gleek: I will give you the minstrel.

I Mus. Then will I give you the serving-crea.

ture.

PET. Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets: I'll re you, I'll fa you; do you note me?

IMUS. An you re us, and fa us, you note us.

Mus. Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit.

PET. Then have at you with my wit; I will drybeat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger: -answer me like men:

But she's best married, that dies married young.
Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary
On this fair corse; and, as the custom is,
In all her best array bear her to church:
For though fond nature bids us all lament,
Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment.

CAP. All things, that we ordained festival,
Turn from their office to black funeral:
she Our instruments, to melancholy bells;

PAR. Have I thought long to see this morning's face,

And doth it give me such a sight as this?
LA. CAP. Accurs'd, unhappy, wretched,
day!

Most miserable hour, that e'er time saw
In lasting labour of his pilgrimage!
But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,
But one thing to rejoice and solace in,

Our wedding cheer, to a sad burial feast;
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change;
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse,
And all things change them to the contrary.
FRI. Sir, go you in,-and, madam, go with
him ;-

And go, sir Paris ;-every one prepare To follow this fair corse unto her grave: hateful The heavens do lour upon you, for some ill; Move them no more, by crossing their high will. [Exeunt CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, PARIS, and Friar.

And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight.
NURSE. O woe! O woful, woful, woful day!
Most lamentable day! most woful day,
That ever, ever, I did yet behold!

1 MUS. 'Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be gone.

NURSE. Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up; For, well you know, this is a pitiful case.

[Exit Nurse. I Mus. Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended.

When griping grief the heart doth wound,
And doleful dumps the mind oppress,
Then music, with her silver sound;

Why, silver sound? why, music with her silver sound? what say you, Simon Catling?

I Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.

PET. Pretty! what say you, Hugh Rebeck?

2 Mus. I say-silver sound, because musicians sound for silver.

PET. Pretty too!-what say you, James Soundpost?

3 Mus. 'Faith, I know not what to say.

PET. O, I cry you mercy; you are the singer: I will say for you. It is-music with her silver sound, because such fellows as you have seldom gold for sounding :

Then music with her silver sound,
With speedy help doth lend redress.
[Exit, singing.

Enter ROMEO.

ROM. If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand: My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne;

And, all this day, an unaccustom'd spirit

Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.

I dreamt, my lady came and found me dead;

(Strange dream! that gives a dead man leave to think,) And breath'd such life with kisses in my lips,

That I reviv'd, and was an emperor.

Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd,
When but love's shadows are so rich in joy.

Enter BALTHASAR.

News from Verona !-how now, Balthasar?
Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar?
How doth my lady? is my father well?
How doth my lady Juliet? that I ask again;
For nothing can be ill, if she be well.

BAL. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill;

Her body sleeps in Capels' monument,
And her immortal part with angels lives;
I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault,
And presently took post to tell it you:
O pardon me for bringing these ill news,
Since you did leave it for my office, sir.

ROM. Is it even so? then I defy you, stars!Thou knowest my lodging: get me ink and paper, And hire post-horses; I will hence to-night.

BAL. I do beseech you, sir, have patience: Your looks are pale and wild, and do import Some misadventure.

ROM.

Tush, thou art deceiv'd;

Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do:
Hast thou no letters to me from the friar?

BAL. No, my good lord.
ROM.
No matter: get thee gone,
And hire those horses; I'll be with thee straight.
[Exit BALTHASAR.

Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night.
Let's see for means :-O, mischief! thou art swift
To enter in the thoughts of desperate men!
I do remember an apothecary,--

And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,
An alligator stuff'd, and other skins

Of ill-shaped fishes; and, about his shelves,

A beggarly account of empty boxes,

Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds,
Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses,
Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a show.
Noting this penury, to myself I said-

An if a man did need a poison now,

Whose sale is present death in Mantua,

Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.

O, this same thought did but fore-run my need:

And this same needy man must sell it me.
As I remember, this should be the house :
Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut.-
What, ho! apothecary!

APOTH.

Enter Apothecary.

Who calls so loud?

ROM. Come hither, man.-I see, that thou art poor;

Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have

A dram of poison; such soon-speeding gear

As will disperse itself through all the veins,

That the life-weary taker may fall dead;

And that the trunk may be discharg'd of breath

As violently, as hasty powder fir'd

Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb.

APOTH. Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's law

Is death, to any he that utters them.

ROM. Art thou so bare, and full of wretchedness, And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks, Need and oppression starveth in thy eyes, Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back, The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law: The world affords no law to make thee rich: Then be not poor, but break it, and take this. APOTH. My poverty, but not my will, consents. ROM. I pay thy poverty, and not thy will. APOTH. Put this in any liquid thing you will, And drink it off; and, if you had the strength Of twenty men, it would despatch you straight.

ROM. There is thy gold; worse poison to men's souls,

Doing more murder in this loathsome world,
Than these poor compounds that thou may'st not sell:
I sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none.
Farewell; buy food, and get thyself in flesh.-
Come, cordial, and not poison; go with me
To Juliet's grave, for there must I use thee.

[Exeunt.

APOTH. Put this in any liquid thing you will, and drink it off.

Welcome from Mantua: what says Romeo?
Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter.

JOHN. Going to find a bare-foot brother out,
One of our order, to associate me,

Here in this city visiting the sick,

And finding him, the searchers of the town,
Suspecting that we both were in a house
Where the infectious pestilence did reign,
Seal'd up the doors, and would not let us forth;
So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd.
LAU. Who bare my letter then to Romeo?
JOHN. I could not send it,-here it is again,—
Nor get a messenger to bring it thee,
So fearful were they of infection.

LAU. Unhappy fortune! by my brotherhood,
The letter was not nice, but full of charge,

Of dear import; and the neglecting it

May do much danger: Friar John, go hence;
Get me an iron crow, and bring it straight
Unto my cell.

JOHN. Brother, I'll go and bring it thee.
LAU. Now must I to the monument alone;
Within this three hours will fair Juliet wake;
She will beshrew me much, that Romeo
Hath had no notice of these accidents :

But I will write again to Mantua,

And keep her at my cell till Romeo come;
Poor living corse, clos'd in a dead man's tomb !

[Exit.

SCENE III-A Churchyard; in it, a monument belonging to the Capulets.

Enter PARIS, and his Page, bearing flowers and a torch.

[Breaking open the door of the monument.
And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food!
PAR. This is that banish'd haughty Montague,
That murder'd my love's cousin ;-with which grief,
It is supposed, the fair creature died,-
And here is come to do some villainous shame
To the dead bodies: I will apprehend him:

[Advances.

Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague;
Can vengeance be pursued further than death?
Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee:
Obey, and go with me, for thou must die.

ROM. I must, indeed; and therefore came I hither.
Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man ;
Fly hence and leave me ;-think upon these gone;
Let them affright thee.-I beseech thee, youth,
Heap not another sin upon my head,

By urging me to fury :-O, be gone!
By heaven, I love thee better than myself;
For I come hither arm'd against myself:
Stay not,-be gone ;-live, and hereafter say—
A madman's mercy bade thee run away.
PAR. I do defy thy conjurations,
And apprehend thee for a felon here.
ROM. Wilt thou provoke me? then have at thee,
boy.
[They fight.
PAGE. O lord! they fight: I will go call the watch.
[Exit Page.
PAR. O, I am slain ! [falls].—If thou be merciful,
Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet.
[Dies.
ROM. In faith, I will:-let me peruse this face ;-
Mercutio's kinsman, noble county Paris :
What said my man, when my betossed soul
Did not attend him as we rode? I think
He told me, Paris should have married Juliet :
Said he not so? or did I dream it so?
Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet,

PAR. Give me thy torch, boy: hence, and stand To think it was so?—O, give me thy hand!
aloof;-

Yet put it out, for I would not be seen.
Under yon yew-trees lay thee all along,
Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground;
So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread,
(Being loose, unfirm with digging up of graves,)
But thou shalt hear it whistle then to me,
As signal that thou hearest something approach.
Give me those flowers: do as I bid thee, go.
PAGE. I am almost afraid to stand alone,
Here in the churchyard; yet I will adventure.
[Retires.
PAR. Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I

strew,

Hold, take this letter; early in the morning
See thou deliver it to my lord and father.
Give me the light upon thy life I charge thee
Whate'er thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloof,
And do not interrupt me in my course.
Why I descend into this bed of death,
Is, partly, to behold my lady's face:

Bat, chiefly, to take thence from her dead finger
A precious ring; a ring, that I must use

In dear employment: therefore hence, be gone:
But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry
In what I further shall intend to do,
By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint,
And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs :
The time and my intents are savage-wild;
More fierce, and more inexorable far,
Than empty tigers, or the roaring sea.

BAL. I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you.

One writ with me in sour misfortune's book!
I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave,—
A grave? O, no! a lantern, slaughter'd youth,
For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes
This vault a feasting presence full of light.
Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd.
[Laying PARIS in the monument.
How oft when men are at the point of death,
Have they been merry! which their keepers call
A lightning before death; O, how may I
Call this a lightning?-O, my love! my wife!
Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath,
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty:
Thou art not conquered; beauty's ensign yet
Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks,
And death's pale flag is not advanced there.—
Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet?
O. what more favour can I do to thee,
Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain,
To sunder his that was thine enemy?
Forgive me, cousin !---Ah, dear Juliet,
Why art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe
That unsubstantial death is amorous;
And that the lean abhorred monster keeps
Thee here in dark to be his paramour?
And never from this palace of dim night
For fear of that, I still will stay with thee;
Depart again; here, here will I remain
With worms that are thy chamber-maids; O, here
Will I set up my everlasting rest;
And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars
From this world-wearied flesh.-Eyes, look your last!
Arms, take your last embrace! and lips, O you
The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss
A dateless bargain to engrossing death!-
Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide!
Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on
The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark!
Here's to my love !—[drinks.] O, true apothecary!
Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss die.

[Dies.
Enter, at the other end of the churchyard, Friar
LAURENCE, with a lantern, crow, and spade.
FRI. Saint Francis be my speed! how oft to-night
Have my old feet stumbled at graves ?-Who's there?
BAL. Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you
well.

FRI. Go with me to the vault.
BAL.

My master knows not but I am gone hence;
And fearfully did menace me with death,

If I did stay to look on his intents.

FRI. Stay then, I'll go alone:-fear comes upon

me;

O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing.

BAL. As I did sleep under this yew-tree here,

I dreamt my master and another fought,
And that my master slew him.

FRI.

Romeo!-[Advances.
Alack, alack! what blood is this, which stains
The stony entrance of this sepulchre ?
What mean these masterless and gory swords
To lie discolour'd by this place of peace?
[Enters the monument.
Romeo! O, pale !-who else? what, Paris too?
And steep'd in blood?-Ah, what an unkind hour
Is guilty of this lamentable chance !—
The lady stirs.
[JULIET wakes.
JUL. O, comfortable friar! where is my lord?
I do remember well where I should be,
And there I am:-Where is my Romeo?
[Noise within.
FRI. I hear some noise.-Lady, come from that

nest

Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep;
A greater Power than we can contradict
Hath thwarted our intents; come, come away:
Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead;
And Paris too; come, I'll dispose of thee
Among a sisterhood of holy nuns :
Stay not to question, for the watch is coming;
Come, go, good Juliet,-[Noise again.] I dare no
longer stay.
[Exit.

JUL. Go, get thee hence, for I will not away.
What's here? a cup, clos'd in my true love's hand?
Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end :-
Ah churl! drink all; and leave no friendly drop,
To help me after?-I will kiss thy lips;
Haply, some poison yet doth hang on them,
To make me die with a restorative.
Thy lips are warm!

[Kisses him.

I WATCH. [within.] Lead, boy; which way? JUL. Yea, noise ?-then I'll be brief.-O happy dagger! [Snatching ROMEO's dagger. This is thy sheath; [stabs herself.] there rust, and let me die.

[Falls on ROMEO's body, and dies.

Enter Watch, with the Page of Paris. PAGE. This is the place; there, where the torch doth burn.

I WATCH. The ground is bloody; search about the churchyard:

Go, some of you, who e'er you find, attach.

[Exeunt some.

Pitiful sight! here lies the county slain ;
And Juliet bleeding; warm, and newly dead,
Who here hath lain this two days buried.
Go, tell the prince,-run to the Capulets,-
Raise up the Montagues,-
-some others search ;-
[Exeunt other Watchmen.
We see the ground whereon these woes do lie;
But the true ground of all these piteous woes
We cannot without circumstance descry.

Re-enter some of the Watch, with BALTHASAR.
2 WATCH. Here's Romeo's man, we found him in
the churchyard.

I WATCH. Hold him in safety, till the prince come hither.

Re-enter another Watchman, with Friar LAURENCE.
3 WATCH. Here is a friar, that trembles, sighs, and
weeps:

We took this mattock and this spade from him,
As he was coming from this churchyard side.

I WATCH. A great suspicion; stay the friar too.

Enter the PRINCE and Attendants. PRINCE. What misadventure is so early up, That calls our person from our morning's rest?

Enter MONTAGUE and others.

PRINCE. Come, Montague; for thou art early up, To see thy son and heir more early down.

MON. Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night; Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath: What further woe conspires against mine age? PRINCE. Look, and thou shalt see.

MON. O thou untaught! what manners is in this,
To press before thy father to a grave?
PRINCE. Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while,
Till we can clear these ambiguities,

And know their spring, their head, their true descent;
And then will I be general of your woes,
And lead you even to death: mean time forbear,
And let mischance be slave to patience.—
Bring forth the parties of suspicion.

FRI. I am the greatest, able to do least,
Yet most suspected, as the time and place
Doth make against me, of this direful murder;

And here I stand, both to impeach and purge
Myself condemned and myself excus'd.

PRINCE. Then say at once what thou dost know in this.

FRI. I will be brief, for my short date of breath Is not so long as is a tedious tale. Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet; And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife: I married them; and their stolen marriage-day Was Tybalt's dooms-day, whose untimely death Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from this city; For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pin'd. You-to remove that siege of grief from her,Betroth'd, and would have married her perforce, To county Paris:-then comes she to me; And, with wild looks, bid me devise some means To rid her from this second marriage, Or, in my cell there would she kill herself. Then gave I her, so tutor'd by my art, A sleeping potion; which so took effect As I intended, for it wrought on her The form of death: meantime I writ to Romeo, That he should hither come as this dire night, To help to take her from her borrow'd grave, Being the time the potion's force should cease. But he which bore my letter, friar John, Was staid by accident; and yesternight Return'd my letter back: then all alone, At the prefixed hour of her waking, Came I to take her from her kindred's vault; Meaning to keep her closely at my cell, Till I conveniently could send to Romeo: But, when I came, (some minute ere the time Of her awaking,) here untimely lay The noble Paris, and true Romeo, dead. She wakes; and I entreated her come forth, And bear this work of heaven with patience: But then a noise did scare me from the tomb; And she, too desperate, would not go with me, But (as it seems) did violence on herself. All this I know; and to the marriage Her nurse is privy: and, if aught in this Miscarried by my fault, let my old life Be sacrific'd, some hour before his time, Unto the rigour of severest law.

PRINCE. We still have known thee for a holy man.Where's Romeo's man? what can he say to this?

BAL. I brought my master news of Juliet's death; And then in post he came from Mantua, To this same place, to this same monument. This letter he early bid me give his father; And threaten'd me with death, going in the vault, If I departed not, and left him there.

PRINCE. Give me the letter, I will look on it.Where is the county's page, that raised the watch?Sirrah, what made your master in this place?

PAGE. He came with flowers to strew his lady's grave;

And bid me stand aloof, and so I did:
Anon, comes one with light to ope the tomb;
And, by and by, my master drew on him;
And then I ran away to call the watch.

PRINCE. This letter doth make good the friar's words,

Their course of love, the tidings of her death:
And here he writes-that he did buy a poison

Of a poor 'pothecary, and therewithal

Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet.-
Where be these enemies? Capulet! Montague!-
See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate,
That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love!
And I, for winking at your discords too,
Have lost a brace of kinsmen: all are punish'd.
CAP. O, brother Montague! give me thy hand;
This is my daughter's jointure, for no more
Can I demand.
MON.
But I can give thee more:
For I will raise her statue in pure gold;
That, whiles Verona by that name is known,
There shall no figure at such rate be set,
As that of true and faithful Juliet.

CAP. As rich shall Romeo by his lady lie;
Poor sacrifices of our enmity!

PRINCE. A glooming peace this morning with it

Enter KENT, GLOUCESTER, and EDMUND. KENT. I thought the king had more affected the duke of Albany than Cornwall.

GLO. It did always seem so to us: but now, in the division of the kingdom, it appears not which of the dukes he values most; for equalities are so weighed, that curiosity in neither can make choice of either's moiety.

KENT. Is not this your son, my lord?

GLO. His breeding, sir,

hath been at my charge: I

have so often blushed to acknowledge him, that now I am brazed to 't.

KENT. I cannot conceive you.

GLO. Sir, this young fellow's mother could: whereupon she grew roundwombed; and had, indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere she had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault? KENT. I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it being so proper.

GLO. But I have, sir, a son by order of law, some year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my account: though this knave came something saucily into the world before he was sent for, yet was his mother fair; there was good sport at his making, and the whoreson must be acknowledged.Do you know this noble gentleman, Edmund ?

EDM. No, my lord.

ACT I.

SCENE I.-A Room of State in King Lear's Palace.
We have this hour a constant will to publish
Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife
May be prevented now. The princes, France and
Burgundy,

Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love,
Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn,
And here are to be answer'd.-Tell me, my daughters,
(Since now we will divest us, both of rule,
Interest of territory, cares of state,)

KENT. Is not this your son, my lord?

GLO. My lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as Which of you shall we say doth love us most? my honourable friend.

EDM. My services to your lordship.

That we our largest bounty may extend
Where nature doth with merit challenge.-Goneril,

KENT. I must love you, and sue to know you Our eldest-born, speak first. better.

EDM. Sir, I shall study deserving. GLO. He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again.-The king is coming.

[Trumpets sound without.

Enter LEAR, CORNWALL, ALBANY, GONERIL, REGAN, CORDELIA, and Attendants.

LEAR. Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloster.

GLO. I shall, my liege. [Exeunt GLOUCESTER and EDMUND. LEAR. Meantime we shall express our darker pur

pose.

Give me the map there.-Know that we have divided
In three our kingdom: and 'tis our fast intent
To shake all cares and business from our age;
Conferring them on younger strengths, while we
Unburden'd crawl toward death.-Our son of Corn-
wall,

And you, our no less loving son of Albany,

GON. Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter;

Dearer than eye-sight, space, and liberty;
Beyond what can be valu'd, rich or rare;
No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour;
As much as child e'er lov'd, or father found;
A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable;
Beyond all manner of so much I love you.
CORD. [Aside.] What shall Cordelia do? Love,

and be silent.

LEAR. Of all these bounds, even from this line to this,

With shadowy forests and with champains rich'd,
With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads
We make thee lady: to thine and Albany's issue
Be this perpetual.-What says our second daughter,
Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? speak.

REG. I am made of that self metal as my sister,
And prize me at her worth. In my true heart
I find she names my very deed of love;
Only she comes too short,-that I profess

our joy,

- Now,

Although our last, not least; to whose young love

The vines of France and milk of Burgundy,

Strive to be interess'd; what can you say, to draw

A third more opulent than

your Speak.

sisters?

CORD. Nothing, my lord.

LEAR. Nothing!

CORD. Nothing.

LEAR. Nothing will come

of nothing: speak again.

CORD. Unhappy that I

am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty According to my bond; nor more nor less. LEAR. How, how, Cordelia! mend your speech a little,

Lest it may mar your fortunes.
CORD.
Good my lord,
You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me: I
Return those duties back as are right fit,
Obey you, love you, and most honour you.
Why have my sisters husbands, if they say
They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed,
That lord, whose hand must take my plight, shall

carry

Half my love with him, half my care, and duty:
Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters,
To love my father all.

LEAR. But goes thy heart with this?
Cord.
Ay, good my lord.
LEAR. young, and so untender?
CORD. So young, my lord, and true.
LEAR. Let it be so,-thy truth, then, be thy
dower :

For, by the sacred radiance of the sun,
The mysteries of Hecate, and the night;
By all the operation of the orbs
From whom we do exist and cease to be,
Here I disclaim all my paternal care,
Propinquity and property of blood,
And as a stranger to my heart and me

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