FRANCE Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich being poor, Most choice forsaken, and most loved despised! 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 inflamed respect.— Thy dowerless daughter, King, thrown to my chance, Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France. Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy Can buy this unprized 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. (to CORDELIA) Therefore be gone Without our grace, our love, our benison.— Come, noble Burgundy.
OPHELIA Oh, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!— The courtier’s, soldier’s, scholar’s, eye, tongue, sword, Th' expectancy and rose of the fair state, The glass of fashion and the mould of form, Th' observed of all observers, quite, quite down! And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, That sucked the honey of his music vows, Now see that noble and most sovereign reason Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh; That unmatched form and feature of blown youth Blasted with ecstasy. Oh, woe is me, T' have seen what I have seen, see what I see!