Yes. (DUCHESS: Who am I?) Thou art a box of worm-seed, at best but a salvatory (115) of green mummy. (116) What 's this flesh? a little crudded (117) milk, fantastical puff-paste. Our bodies are weaker than those paper- prisons boys use to keep flies in; more contemptible, since ours is to preserve earth-worms. Didst thou ever see a lark in a cage? Such is the soul in the body: this world is like her little turf of grass, and the heaven o'er our heads like her looking-glass, only gives us a miserable knowledge of the small compass of our prison. (DUCHESS: Am not I thy duchess?) Thou art some great woman, sure, for riot begins to sit on thy forehead (clad in gray hairs) twenty years sooner than on a merry milk-maid's. Thou sleepest worse than if a mouse should be forced to take up her lodging in a cat's ear: a little infant that breeds its teeth, should it lie with thee, would cry out, as if thou wert the more unquiet bedfellow.

Bosola Monologue from The Duchess of Malfi

Rehearse Bosola's monologue