Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law. God shield you mean it not! daughter and mother So strive upon your pulse. What! pale again? My fear hath catch’d your fondness; now I see The mystery of your loneliness, and find Your salt tears’ head. Now to all sense ’tis gross You love my son; invention is asham’d, Against the proclamation of thy passion To say thou dost not. Therefore tell me true; But tell me then, ’tis so; for, look, thy cheeks Confess it, t’one to th’other; and thine eyes See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours, That in their kind they speak it; only sin And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue, That truth should be suspected. Speak, is’t so? If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew; If it be not, forswear’t: howe’er, I charge thee, As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, To tell me truly.

Countess Monologue from All's Well That Ends Well

Rehearse Countess's monologue