Cordelia: 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. / Why have my sisters husbands if they say / They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed, / That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry / Half my love with him, half my care and duty: / Sure I shall never marry like my sisters, To love my father all.

Lear: But goes thy heart with this?

Cordelia: Ay, good my lord.

Lear: So young, and so untender?

Cordelia: So young, my lord, and true.