Brachiano Monologue from The White Devil

From The White Devil by John Webster

male · anguished · 1:08 min

Right! there are plots. Your beauty! Oh, ten thousand curses on 't! How long have I beheld the devil in crystal! Thou hast led me, like an heathen sacrifice, With music, and with fatal yokes of flowers, To my eternal ruin. Woman to man Is either a god, or a wolf. (Vit: My lord----) Away! We 'll be as differing as two adamants, The one shall shun the other. What! dost weep? Procure but ten of thy dissembling trade, Ye 'd furnish all the Irish funerals With howling past wild Irish. (Flam: Fie, my lord!) That hand, that cursed hand, which I have wearied With doting kisses!--Oh, my sweetest duchess, How lovely art thou now!--My loose thoughts Scatter like quicksilver: I was bewitch'd; For all the world speaks ill of thee.

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