Sure I shall never marry like my sisters,
To love my father all.

Lear.
But goes thy heart with this?

Cor.
Ay, good my lord.

Lear.
So young, and so untender?

Cor.
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
Hold thee, from this for ever. The barbarous Scythian,
Or he that makes his generation messes
To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom
Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and reliev'd,
As thou my sometime daughter.