Shakespeare Monologues

Shakespeare HelenaA Midsummer
Nights Dream
Monologues
HelenaA Midsummer
Nights Dream O spite! O hell! I see you all are bent
To set against me for your merriment:
O, I am out of breath in this fond chase!

If you were civil and knew courtesy,
The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace.

You would not do me thus much injury.
Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies;

Can you not hate me, as I know you do,
For she hath blessed and attractive eyes.

But you must join in souls to mock me too?
How came her eyes so bright? Not with salt

If you were men, as men you are in show,
tears:
You would not use a gentle lady so;
If so, my eyes are oftener wash'd than hers.
To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts,
No, no, I am as ugly as a bear;
When I am sure you hate me with your hearts.
For beasts that meet me run away for fear:
You both are rivals, and love Hermia;
Therefore no marvel though Demetrius
And now both rivals, to mock Helena:
Do, as a monster fly my presence thus.
A trim exploit, a manly enterprise,
What wicked and dissembling glass of mine
To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes
Made me compare with Hermia's sphery eyne?
With your derision! none of noble sort
But who is here? Lysander! on the ground!
Would so offend a virgin, and extort
Dead? or asleep? I see no blood, no wound.
A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport.
Lysander if you live, good sir, awake.
HermiaA Midsummer I could not find him at the Elephant:
Nights Dream
Yet there he was; and there I found this credit,
That he did range the town to seek me out.

Puppet? why so? ay, that way goes the game.
His counsel now might do me golden service;

Now I perceive that she hath made compare
For though my soul disputes well with my sense,

Between our statures; she hath urged her height;
That this may be some error, but no madness,

And with her personage, her tall personage,
Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune

Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail'd with
him. So far exceed all instance, all discourse,
And are you grown so high in his esteem; That I am ready to distrust mine eyes
Because I am so dwarfish and so low? And wrangle with my reason that persuades me
How low am I, thou painted maypole? speak; To any other trust but that I am mad
How low am I? I am not yet so low Or else the lady's mad; yet, if 'twere so,
But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes. She could not sway her house, command her
followers,
Take and give back affairs and their dispatch

SebastianTwelfth Night
With such a smooth, discreet and stable bearing
This is the air; that is the glorious sun;

As I perceive she does: there's something in't
This pearl she gave me, I do feel't and see't;

That is deceiveable. But here the lady comes.
And though 'tis wonder that enwraps me thus,
Yet 'tis not madness. Where's Antonio, then?

JulietRomeo & Juliet But, soft! what light through yonder window
breaks?
O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Deny thy father and refuse thy name;
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
Who is already sick and pale with grief.
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.
It is my lady, O, it is my love!
'Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
O, that she knew she were!
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that?
What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Her eye discourses; I will answer it.
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
The brightness of her cheek would shame those
What's in a name? that which we call a rose
stars,
By any other name would smell as sweet;

As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,

Would through the airy region stream so bright
Retain that dear perfection which he owes

That birds would sing and think it were not
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, night.
And for that name which is no part of thee Take See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
all myself.
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
RomeoRomeo & Juliet

That I might touch that cheek!
He jests at scars that never felt a wound.

Shakespeare Monologues

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

Shakespeare Monologues

Uploaded by

Document Information

Original Description:

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

Shakespeare Monologues

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

Shakespeare HelenaA Midsummer

To set against me for your merriment:

O, I am out of breath in this fond chase!

The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace.

Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies;

For she hath blessed and attractive eyes.

How came her eyes so bright? Not with salt

That he did range the town to seek me out.

His counsel now might do me golden service;

For though my soul disputes well with my sense,

That this may be some error, but no madness,

Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune

him. So far exceed all instance, all discourse,

Take and give back affairs and their dispatch

This is the air; that is the glorious sun;

This pearl she gave me, I do feel't and see't;

And though 'tis wonder that enwraps me thus,

Yet 'tis not madness. Where's Antonio, then?

By any other name would smell as sweet;

So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,

Retain that dear perfection which he owes

Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, night.

RomeoRomeo & Juliet

He jests at scars that never felt a wound.

You might also like