When you were an acorn on the tree top, Then was I an eagle-cock; Now that you are a withered old block, Still am I an eagle-cock. (DEIRDRE: —I.) First Musician. “Why is it,” Queen Edain said, “If I do but climb the stair To the tower overhead When the winds are calling there, Or the gannets calling out, In waste places of the sky, There is so much to think about, That I cry, that I cry?” Second Musician. But her goodman answered her: “Love would be a thing of naught Had not all his limbs a stir Born out of immoderate thought. Were he any thing by half, Were his measure running dry, Lovers, if they may not laugh, Have to cry, have to cry.” The Three Musicians together. But is Edain worth a song Now the hunt begins anew? Praise the beautiful and strong; Praise the redness of the yew; Praise the blossoming apple-stem. But our silence had been wise. What is all our praise to them That have one another’s eyes? (DEIRDRE: —II.) Love is an immoderate thing And can never be content Till it dip an ageing wing, Where some laughing element Leaps and Time’s old lanthorn dims. What’s the merit in love-play, In the tumult of the limbs That dies out before ’tis day, Heart on heart or mouth on mouth All that mingling of our breath, When love-longing is but drouth For the things that follow death? (MUSICIANS’ SONG.) —III.

Florence Farr Monologue from The Land of Heart's Desire

Rehearse Florence Farr's monologue