Yes. You talk of Pirithous’ and Theseus’ love. Theirs has more ground, is more maturely seasoned, More buckled with strong judgement, and their needs The one of th’ other may be said to water Their intertangled roots of love; but I, And she I sigh and spoke of, were things innocent, Loved for we did, and like the elements That know not what nor why, yet do effect Rare issues by their operance, our souls Did so to one another. What she liked Was then of me approved, what not, condemned, No more arraignment. The flower that I would pluck And put between my breasts, O, then but beginning To swell about the blossom—she would long Till she had such another, and commit it To the like innocent cradle, where, phœnix-like, They died in perfume. On my head no toy But was her pattern; her affections—pretty, Though haply her careless wear—I followed For my most serious decking; had mine ear Stol’n some new air, or at adventure hummed one From musical coinage, why, it was a note Whereon her spirits would sojourn—rather, dwell on, And sing it in her slumbers. This rehearsal, Which fury-innocent wots well, comes in Like old importment’s bastard—has this end, That the true love ’tween maid and maid may be More than in sex individual.

Emilia Monologue from The Two Noble Kinsmen

Rehearse Emilia's monologue