Monologue

Cornelia Monologue from The White Devil

From The White Devil by John Webster

female · melancholic · 1:00 min

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This rosemary is wither'd; pray, get fresh. I would have these herbs grow upon his grave, When I am dead and rotten. Reach the bays, I 'll tie a garland here about his head; I have kept this twenty year, and every day Hallow'd it with my prayers; I did not think He should have wore it. (Zan: Look you, who are yonder?) Oh, reach me the flowers! (Zan: Her ladyship 's foolish. Woman. Alas, her grief Hath turn'd her child again!) You 're very welcome: [To Flamineo. There 's rosemary for you, and rue for you, Heart's-ease for you; I pray make much of it, I have left more for myself.

About this piece

40s · sadness · death · grief · memory · love

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