What is to say? why, you do surely know That since my days were counted for a man's I have loved you; yea, how past all help and sense, Whatever thing was bitter to my love, I have loved you; how when I rode in war Your face went floated in among men's helms, Your voice went through the shriek of slipping swords; Yea, and I never have loved women well, Seeing always in my sight I had your lips Curled over, red and sweet; and the soft space Of carven brows, and splendor of great throat Swayed lily-wise; what pleasure should one have To wind his arms about a lesser love? I have seen you; why, this were joy enough For God's eyes up in heaven, only to see And to come never nearer than I am. Why, it was in my flesh, my bone and blood, Bound in my brain, to love you; yea, and writ All my heart over: if I would lie to you I doubt I could not lie. Ah, you see now, You know now well enough; yea, there, sweet love, Let me kiss there.

Chastelard Monologue from Chastelard, a Tragedy

Rehearse Chastelard's monologue