1 I must love you, and sue to know you better.
2 I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it being so proper.
3 I lov'd her most, and thought to set my rest On her kind nursery.
4 I thought the King had more affected the Duke of Albany than Cornwall.
5 Sir, I am made of the self mettle as my sister, And prize me at her worth.
6 Then leave her, sir; for, by the power that made me, I tell you all her wealth.
7 Revoke thy gift, Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat, I'll tell thee thou dost evil.
8 I do invest you jointly with my power, Pre-eminence, and all the large effects That troop with majesty.
9 His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge: I have so often blush'd to acknowledge him that now I am braz'd to't.
10 Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty According to my bond; no more nor less.
11 My life I never held but as a pawn To wage against thine enemies; ne'er fear to lose it, Thy safety being the motive.
12 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.
13 Royal Lear, Whom I have ever honour'd as my king, Lov'd as my father, as my master follow'd, As my great patron thought on in my prayers.
14 In my true heart I find she names my very deed of love; Only she comes too short, that I profess Myself an enemy to all other joys Which the most precious square of sense possesses, And find I am alone felicitate In your dear highness' love.
15 But I have a son, sir, by order of law, some year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my account: though this knave came something saucily to 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.
16 Sir, I love you more than word can wield the matter; Dearer than eyesight, 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.
17 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 Hold thee from this for ever.
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