Lear:
[...] Now, our joy,
Although our last and least; to whose young love
The vines of France and Milk of Burgundy
Strive to be interest; what can you say to draw
A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.
Cordelia:
Nothing, my lord.
Lear:
Nothing?
Cordelia:
Nothing.
Lear:
Nothing will come of nothing. Speak again.
Cordelia:
Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave
My heart into my mouth. I love your Majesty
According to my bond, no more nor less. (1.1, 84-95)
Head over to Fogged Clarity for the rest of this post.
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