O look upon me, sir,
And hold your hands in benediction o'er me--
No, sir, you must not kneel.

LEAR.

Pray, do not mock me:
I am a very foolish, fond old man,
Fourscore and upwards; and to deal plainly with you,
I fear I am not in my perfect mind.
Methinks I should know you, and know this man,
Yet I am doubtful: for I am mainly ignorant
What place this is; and all the skill I have
Remembers not these garments; nor I know not
Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me;
For as I am a man, I think this lady
To be my child Cordelia.

CORDELIA.

And so I am, I am.

LEAR.

Be your tears wet? Yes, faith. I pray you weep not
If you have poison for me I will drink it.
I know you do not love me; for your sisters
Have, as I do remember, done me wrong:
You have some cause, they have not.

CORDELIA.

No cause, no cause!

As we do not estimate Cordelia's affection for her father by the
coldness of her language, so neither should we measure her indignation
against her sisters by the mildness of her expressions. What, in fact,
can be more eloquently significant, and at the same time more
characteristic of Cordelia, than the single line when she and her father
are conveyed to their prison:--

Shall we not see these _daughters_ and these _sisters_?

The irony here is so bitter and intense, and at the same time so quiet,
so feminine, so dignified in the expression, that who but Cordelia would
have uttered it in the same manner, or would have condensed such ample
meaning into so few and simple words?

We lose sight of Cordelia during the whole of the second and third, and
great part of the fourth act; but towards the conclusion she reappears.
Just as our sense of human misery and wickedness being carried to its
extreme height, becomes nearly intolerable, "like an engine wrenching
our frame of nature from its fixed place," then, like a redeeming angel,
she descends to mingle in the scene, "loosening the springs of pity in
our eyes," and relieving the impressions of pain and terror by those of
admiration and a tender pleasure. For the catastrophe, it is indeed
terrible! wondrous terrible! When Lear enters with Cordelia dead in his
arms, compassion and awe so seize on all our facu