Monologue

Fainall Monologue from The Way of the World

From The Way of the World by William Congreve

male · anguished · 1:20 min

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What? What is it not? What is it not yet? It is not yet too late— (MRS. MAR: No, it is not yet too late—I have that comfort.) It is, to love another. (MRS. MAR: But not to loathe, detest, abhor mankind, myself, and the whole treacherous world.) Nay, this is extravagance. Come, I ask your pardon. No tears—I was to blame, I could not love you and be easy in my doubts. Pray forbear—I believe you; I’m convinced I’ve done you wrong; and any way, every way will make amends: I’ll hate my wife yet more, damn her, I’ll part with her, rob her of all she’s worth, and we’ll retire somewhere, anywhere, to another world; I’ll marry thee—be pacified.—’Sdeath, they come: hide your face, your tears. You have a mask: wear it a moment. This way, this way: be persuaded.

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30s · despair · love · betrayal · redemption · isolation

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