Monologue

Costard Monologue from Love's Labour's Lost

From Love's Labour's Lost by William Shakespeare

male · comedic · 1:20 min

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Then will she get the upshoot by cleaving the pin. (MARIA: Come, come, you talk greasily, your lips grow foul.) She’s too hard for you at pricks, sir. Challenge her to bowl. (BOYET: I fear too much rubbing. Good night, my good owl.) By my soul, a swain, a most simple clown! Lord, Lord, how the ladies and I have put him down! O’ my troth, most sweet jests, most incony vulgar wit, When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it were, so fit. Armado, o’ the one side, O, a most dainty man! To see him walk before a lady and to bear her fan! To see him kiss his hand and how most sweetly he will swear! And his page o’ t’other side, that handful of wit! Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit. (Shout within.) Sola, sola! (Exit.)

About this piece

20s · joy · identity · humor · social status · romance

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