by Shakespeare
(to audience)
I left no ring with her.
What means this lady?
Fortune forbid my outside
have not charmed her.
She made good view of me:
indeed, so much
That, as methought, her eyes
had lost her tongue,
For she did speak in starts
distractedly.
She loves me sure; the
cunning of her passion
Invites me in this churlish
messenger.
None of my lord’s ring? Why,
he sent her none.
I am the man. If it be so,
as ‘tis,
Poor lady, she were better
love a dream.
Disguise, I see thou art a
wickedness
Wherein the pregnant enemy
does much.
How easy is it for the
proper false
In women’s waxen hearts to
set their forms!
Alas, our frailty is the
cause, not we,
For such as we are made of,
such we be.
How will this fadge? My
master loves her dearly;
And I (poor monster) fond as
much on him;
And she (mistaken) seems to
dote on me.
What will become of this? As
I am man,
My state is desperate for my
master’s love.
As I am woman (now alas the
day!),
What thriftless sighs shall
poor Olivia breathe?
O time, thou must untangle
this, not I;
It is too hard a knot for me t’untie.
It is too hard a knot for me t’untie.
Please watch the play, TV episode or
film that this monologue appears in to support the artist and understand the
context.
Please note that while all care is
taken, typos may appear. Please let me know if this occurs.
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